Category Archives: Travel

On jet-charged children

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I discovered a while ago that the A380 is the best plane to fly on with children, not just because there’s more space to move around, but because there’s even a staircase you could use as a naughty step.

Whenever we fly back to London for our annual leave, I always make sure we’re booked on a superjumbo, and it definitely helps the ole pre-flight nerves to know that the boys and I will be able to have a little wander around after hours of being wedged into our seats.

Of course, as all mums who have to fly solo with their kids know, there are other things that would help too – like a third or even fourth arm to carry all the luggage; the physical stamina of a pack mule; a basic aviation knowledge (so as to answer questions such as How does the wind move?); and double-jointedness to make assisting a child in the bathroom easier.

If only!

If only!

But, the single most important thing, I now realise, that makes a big difference is the passage of time. And by that, I don’t mean the slow, ticking of time that extends every drawn-out minute on the actual flight. I mean your children getting older – and easier to fly with.

While queuing at security, I got chatting to a mum with a seven-month-old baby, and as she struggled with all the baby paraphernalia, juggled her little one, took her belt and shoes off, then, at the other side of the x-ray machine, pulled it all together again like a 100-piece jigsaw puzzle, I have to admit I felt like punching the air with joy that I’ve left that stage well and truly behind.

This flight, I didn’t even have the usual two-tonne carry-on luggage – my laptop case, filled with my MacBook, an iPad, a DS machine and a Kindle, sufficed. And saw us through the flight. Just.

What I hadn’t bargained on, though, was the overexcited, unsuppressable second wind that my boys would enjoy on their jet-charged arrival. At 10pm (1am Dubai time), and after a 12-hour journey from door-to-door without a wink of sleep, they were almost impossible to get to bed (“But it’s still light outside Mummy!”)

Thank goodness for grandparents, who like highly trained reinforcements, had taken over well before I hit the wall.

Travel post: Therapeutic tourism

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Numerous spa hotels have set up shop by the healing waters of the Dead Sea, offering visitors pampering packages and the chance to find out what the other-worldly experience of floating in the salty water feels like

The Infinity Pool at the Kempinski hotel Jordan, on the Dead Sea

Luxe on the lake: The infinity pool at the Kempinski hotel Jordan, by the Dead Sea

There’s something in the air down by the Dead Sea. You can feel it as you inhale; as you climb stairs with a spring in your step. You’d even be forgiven for believing the extra room in your lungs might make running seem like a walk in the park.

Of course, it wasn’t that I’d suddenly reached a new level of fitness without even trying. We were staying on the shores of the Dead Sea in Jordan, where the air contains 18 per cent more oxygen than at sea level.

When the mud slinging started, more health benefits revealed themselves. The hotel spa’s main ingredient – sloppy mud – was being dredged from the salty sea right on our doorstep. We slathered ourselves with mineral-rich gooey muck, until our skin pores started gasping for fresh air. Then stepped into the serene water to marinate and bob like a cork.

Up to 10 times saltier than seawater, the Dead Sea derived its name from the fact nothing can live in it due to its extreme salinity

Up to 10 times saltier than seawater, the Dead Sea derived its name from the fact nothing can live in it due to its extreme salinity (and yes, that’s me fulfilling a lifelong ambition)

I had wanted to visit the Dead Sea since seeing photos of people floating on top of it, clutching newspapers, years ago. And I wasn’t disappointed: you really are unsinkable. Each time I moved, the buoyancy created an upward pressure that kept me afloat like a rubber ring. I wrapped my arms under my knees and laughed aloud – it’s the most peculiar, memorable experience.

At 400m below sea level, the lake marks the lowest point on the planet. Each day, millions of litres of water evaporates from the surface, creating a thick, atmospheric haze overhead. Noises are soaked up by this haze, leaving little to hear but the sound of lapping water, and dangerous UVB sunrays are filtered out, so you tan but don’t burn.

Therapeutic tourism has been big business for centuries, with visitors flocking to the area to take advantage of the seawater’s healing properties (King Herod was a regular apparently). Dead Sea water and mud contain high concentrations of minerals including calcium, magnesium, bromine, sulphur and bitumen, which can relieve skin conditions such as acne and eczema, ease the pain of arthritis, beat allergies and boost circulation.

the-dead-sea mapThese healing properties come at a price, though: even the smallest of nicks start stinging when you enter the water (don’t shave first!). Bobbing around in liquid that kills all marine life also has a slightly eerie feel. DH didn’t stay in for long, citing a tingly sensation that saw him slipping out the warm sea faster than you can say pass the salt.

Just one splash in the eyes or mouth is also enough to send bathers scrabbling for the shore. I was enjoying myself far too much to be too worried, however, and after a good shower, my newly exfoliated skin felt as soft as a baby’s cheek. Nature’s loofah comes highly recommended.

The Anantara Spa at the 345-room, five-star Kempinski Hotel Ishtar is the largest spa in the Middle East, with 20 spa suites offering a host of massages and treatments. An oasis of gardens and lagoons, the hotel is designed to be an affectionate tribute to the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. Other five-star properties that have opened their doors at the lowest point on earth include the Movenpick Resort & Spa Dead Sea and Jordan Valley Marriott Resort & Spa, as well as the four-star Dead Sea Spa Hotel.

Adapted from my column in The Source magazine. Other posts in my travel series: Hong Kong and Beirut

Travel post: 48 hours in Hong Kong

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From the lights to the shopping to the fusion of Chinese and Western influences, there’s so much to sample in this fascinating and fast-paced city. This is the next installment in my series of travel posts and is adapted from my column in The Source magazine. Normal blog service resumed tomorrow! 

Flight time from Dubai: Just over 7 hours

Flight time from Dubai: Just over seven hours

Hong Kong bristles with such vibrant, non-stop energy that you can fit more into a 48-hour whirlwind tour of ‘Asia’s World City’ than you ever thought possible.

Transformed from a colonial outpost into a thriving, international business centre, Hong Kong is a city of contrasts. A Chinese metropolis with a 156-year history of British rule; a densely packed home to seven million people with islands and jungly undergrowth; and a shopping mecca famous for bright, neon lights, tucked-away temples, high teas and dim sums.

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Hong Kong’s nightlife is electrifying

Its name means Fragrant Harbour, and while Hong Kong’s sensory overload may overwhelm at first, once you get your bearings you’ll find yourself drawn to this teeming hub like moths to a light. Here’s what you can do in 48 hours.

Day one: A friend who lived in Hong Kong for several years told me, “If you only have time to do one thing, go up The Peak.” Provided it’s not too cloudy or polluted, the views of Victoria Harbour, central Hong Kong and the city’s 260-plus islands are exhilarating.

By day, your eyes scan the gleaming skyscrapers, the traditional ferries that dot the waters of Victoria Harbour and an abundance of green landscape stretching all the way to the hills of the New Territories. As the sun sets, the hues change to pink and orange, before melting away to reveal a glittering nightscape that twinkles beneath you.

You can ascend Victoria Peak on foot via walking trails or take a bus to the top, but we opted to ride the historic Peak Tram, which climbs the mountain at an astoundingly steep angle. Dating back to 1888, the tram was the first cable funicular in Asia. Don’t be put off by the crowds at the terminus – the journey is a jaunty, not-to-be-missed visual experience in its own right.

The highest point on Hong Kong Island, Victoria Peak was home to many of the city’s early colonial administrators, who wanted to escape the heat and humidity of urban life below. Today, the exclusive neighbourhood still attracts the rich and famous, with some of the most expensive real estate in the world

The highest point on Hong Kong Island, Victoria Peak was home to many of the city’s early colonial administrators, who wanted to escape the heat and humidity of urban life below. Today, the exclusive neighbourhood still attracts the rich and famous, with some of the most expensive real estate in the world

After feasting our eyes, it was time to exercise our wallets at the Temple Street Night Market, which starts around 4pm but really gets going after dark. The emphasis is on fashion, but you can find just about anything, from chessboards to chopsticks.

There are quite literally hundreds of stalls stacked high (expect to haggle), and even if you’re not looking for a good deal, it’s worth visiting just for the atmosphere. The night market is also known for its dai pai dongs (open-air food stalls), fortune tellers and deafening Cantonese karaoke.

If you’re really determined to shop until you drop, you could always move on to Mong Kok’s Ladies Market, a one-kilometre stretch of market stalls selling piles of clothing and accessories, as well as home furnishings, CDs and trinkets.

Rounding the day off with a trip to Lan Kwai Fong, a small square of streets in Hong Kong’s Central District, will give you a lively taste of the nightlife enjoyed by the city’s expats.

Day two: The next day we opted not to visit the busy, bronze Tian Tan Buddha statue (known as the Big Buddha due to its size) and instead took a local ferry from Central Pier to the little island of Cheung Chau. A world away from the suits and skyscrapers of Central, Cheung Chau is a warren of little roads with few vehicles. It’s all too easy to while away the afternoon strolling around and sipping cold drinks at a seaside café.

As a grand finale that evening, we couldn’t resist one last look at the city’s glorious skyline, viewed from the waterfront Avenue of Stars. Modelled on Hollywood’s Walk of Fame, we saw the big names from Hong Kong’s entertainment industry immortalised in stone and took a photo with a bronze statue of Bruce Lee.

But, for me, it was watching the city’s lights come on – bringing the iconic skyline into even sharper focus – that was the most memorable. Then, at 8pm, as if we hadn’t been dazzled enough already, the Symphony of Lights set the sky ablaze with lasers.

MY TIP: Eat scones and sandwiches while listening to a string quartet at The Peninsula’s high tea, or if Cantonese is more your thing, try one of the dim sum restaurants in Tsim Sha Tsui

Silent Sunday: Rustic charm

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There was an old woman who lived in a …. barrel? I know it should be shoe, but when I saw this photo – taken by my mother-in-law in Lebanon – it really reminded me of the nursery rhyme. Gives a new meaning to the phrase rolling countryside…

Lebanon barrel house

And, in reply to the lovely Ms Caroline in Seoul, who just pointed out that it looks like a hobbit house without grass on top, it is all real-sized. I cropped the photo above – here’s the original, with three cars parked outside!

Satellite dish too, I wonder!

Am wondering if there’s a satellite dish and Wi-Fi too!

Beirut and beyond

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If you’ve been following this blog, you might remember that my in-laws live in Beirut. I may also have mentioned that my mother-in-law (MIL) is an absolute whizz at designing and furnishing houses.

When I was 15 and dating DH, I stepped into their London basement apartment on Gloucester Road and knew immediately that I wanted to live in a house just like it. The Japanese screens, oriental ornaments, Persian carpets, silk cushions and golden Buddhas that adorned their flat conjured up images of far-flung corners of the world that I yearned to travel to.

My MIL’s uncanny talent for interior design has been unleashed on homes all round the globe (places they’ve lived include Kuwait, Thailand, Japan, Hawaii and Washington DC, to name just a few). Most recently, my in-laws have been renovating a property perched high above Beirut – a yellow-stoned, cavernous building that was a crumbling, derelict shell when they bought it.

What they’ve achieved is astonishing.

Next door to their home is a guesthouse that they’ve just finished, and I’m posting it on the blog because it’s available for holiday lets (and no-one knows about it yet!).

From my in-laws’ two-bedroom guesthouse, there are 360-panoramic views of the Mediterranean and surrounding olive groves. Nestled in the mountains just 30 minutes from downtown Beirut and 15 minutes from the airport, it’s a tucked-away retreat, located 700m above the city’s humidity.

From my in-laws’ two-bedroom guesthouse, there are 360-panoramic views of the Mediterranean and surrounding olive groves. Nestled in the mountains just 30 minutes from downtown Beirut and 15 minutes from the airport, Casa Mia Shemlan is a tucked-away village retreat, located 700m above the city’s humidity.

On our first visit, I got a taste of the flair Beirut is known for while leaving the airport. Lebanese drivers were jockeying for position, edging forwards into the smallest of spaces to gain an advantage, and leaning on their horns.

As we climbed up to Shemlan via steep mountain bends, my father-in-law wound down the car window to pluck a fig from a tree and stopped to greet a neighbour in Arabic. There was an air of relaxed friendliness. But it was the panoramic view that stole the show. Beirut, laid out below, stretched alluringly across a headland jutting into the azure-blue, east Mediterranean sea.

A popular destination for Middle Eastern travellers, and a cosmopolitan melting pot of people and influences, Beirut is the most distinct of all Arab cities

A popular destination for Middle Eastern travellers, and a cosmopolitan melting pot of people and influences, Beirut is the most distinct of all Arab cities

From above, the city looked peaceful, almost sleepy. It’s anything but, of course. On the ground, Beirut pulses with life, glamour and hedonism.

Rising optimistically from the war-torn ruins of decades of fighting, Lebanon’s capital is a vibrant metropolis, inhabited by beguiling, beautiful people whose hospitality knows no bounds. Many are fluent in English, French and Arabic. “Bonsoir habibi, how’s it going?” someone asked me, using all three languages in one sentence.

You might spot a tank on the streets of Beirut, rolled out as a show of security, but these days you’re far more likely to see sports cars with their hoods down, or a Ferrari dealer next to a flat bread stall.

In the city, bullet holes stare, like unblinking eyes, and shelled-out buildings punctuate the landscape, but there’s a spirit of resilience that’s helped Beirut dust itself off repeatedly from periods of conflict. Once the self-proclaimed ‘Paris of the Middle East’, there’s still an outdoor cafe culture, and European architecture can be found everywhere. Hamra is full of smart boutiques and the downtown has been rebuilt, exactly as it was, with a series of elegant streets branching off from a central plaza.

Everywhere, the city’s jumble of history is evident. Sitting in front of the huge Blue Mosque is a tiny Maronite chapel, and there’s a perfectly restored Orthodox church next to a Catholic cathedral – all within yards of each other.

My favourite place to be at dusk is the waterfront Corniche, where at sunset it’s as though the entire city is out strutting its stuff along the wide, palm-lined seafront promenade. From here, you can watch the sky turn pink over Pigeon Rock, then head into Hamra to sample the city’s famed, vibrant nightlife.

Beyond Beirut, the scenery is stunning. Lebanon offers every type of recreation, from skiing to swimming, walking, ancient ruins and wineries. A famous, old Lebanese boast is that you can ski and swim in the same day. And don’t get me started about the food, made from the freshest of ingredients. Provided everything is peaceful politically, Lebanon gives the south of France a run for its money.

This post is adapted from a travel column I write for a magazine called The Source (click here). More travel posts coming up!

We drove to the mouth of the Dog River, where there are inscriptions that bear witness to more than 3,000 years of Levantine history

We drove to the mouth of the Dog River, where there are inscriptions that bear witness to more than 3,000 years of Levantine history

 

Bank holiday in Cyprus

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“What could possibly go wrong?” my DH said last week, referring to the holiday we’d booked to Cyprus.

“It’ll be fine,” he promised me, waving a whole envelope-full of Euros at me as I furtively googled things like ‘Do ATMs still give money in Cyprus?’, ‘Will our credit card work in Cyprus?, ‘Are there riots in Paphos?’.

I was a little nervous – understandably, don’t you think? We’d spent several days trying to come up with a holiday destination that ticked all the boxes – no more than four hours away (mums with small children will understand my logic here); good weather; kid-friendly; and no major sporting events going on (like the Grand Prix that quashed our plans to go to Malaysia).

Cyprus is the third largest Mediterranean island

Cyprus is the third largest Mediterranean island

And, for us – because we travel on stand-by – we also had to find a country that had space on the flights. “Cyprus looks good,” said DH. “The flights have seats.”

“All booked,” he texted later, as I sat at my desk grinning with anticipation at the thought of going to the land of yoghurt and honey, taramasalata and tzatziki.

Then I turned the TV on.

Cyprus was the top story, on every.single.news.programme I flicked to. The country was on the brink, practically bankrupt and in financial crisis. NO WONDER the flights had space.

“Oh no! What to do?” I nearly wept to DH. “Should we cancel?”

Of course not he said. We just need to take lots of Euros with us (if I’m honest, it wasn’t just the money I was worrying about; it had occurred to me that people might be panic-buying and all that yummy Greek food I’d imagined us eating might be in short supply).

The horror!

Although my DH does have a history of ending up in the world’s hotspots (getting stuck in Kuwait during the Iraqi invasion of 1990, for example), I did believe him – he’s as level-headed as a spirit level and immensely worldly-wise. And, anyway, packing for me and the children diverted my mind for the rest of the day.

We flew to Larnaka early the next morning, picked up a teeny-tiny hire car and set off across the island, past olive groves, fragrant citrus orchards and sea-lashed secluded coves, and discovered that life was, indeed, continuing as normal.

The taramasalata hadn't run out after all

The taramasalata hadn’t run out after all

From the small fishing villages on the sparkling coast to the parts of Cyprus that are more like a sunny Essex suburb, tourism on this stunning but insolvent Mediterranean island was continuing unabated.

The banks were closed, but the lights were still on. The ATMs were being refilled with cash and credit card transactions were going through. We’d heard the Cypriots were running out of small coins, with taxi drivers rounding up to the nearest 5 or 10, but change wasn’t a problem in any of the towns we visited.

I like to think we did our bit – by spending our stash of cash, and eating our weight in the most delicious, creamy Greek dips and lemon-drizzzled dishes.

Happy days.

The term Mediterranean is derived from the Latin for "middle of the Earth" because to the ancient Romans, the vibrant sea was the centre of the world

The term Mediterranean is derived from the Latin for “middle of the Earth” because to the ancient Romans, the vibrant sea was the centre of the world

On being afraid of turbulence

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A couple of days ago, DH and I went on a ‘date night’, something we try to do every few weeks. Usually, we have dinner, sometimes we really push the boat out and see a movie too.

This time, we went to the cinema to see the film ‘Flight’, starring Denzel Washington. We often struggle to find a film we both like the sound of (“I’d rather watch paint dry,” I’ve been known to say), but ‘Flight’ ticked all the boxes that need to be checked for a cinema date night.

There was an aviation theme, obviously. A lot of human interest. And a crash scene at the beginning – for me.

Yes, you read that right.

I can’t explain it (I really can’t), but for some reason I’m fascinated by air crashes. They terrify me, but I always want to know more. What exactly caused it, did anyone survive, what was the chain of events leading up to it?

The film ‘Flight’, I thought (wrongly), might even be a full-length feature version of one of my favourite programmes, Air Crash Investigation, which DH and I have been known to watch in bed.

But the funny thing is: I’m the last person who should be watching these shows, because, there was a time in my life, when I was petrified of flying. I must have been in my mid-20s and it got bad enough that I even considered doing a fear of flying course run by British Airways.
howplanesfly
Little did I know what fate had in store. I married my first love, a pilot, who gave me a couple of flying lessons in Florida. I nearly landed – and would have done if it wasn’t for the fact the ground was coming towards us way too fast (and I wasn’t his worse student, apparently!)

Air travel now is obviously all about the children and tending to their needs for eight.long.hours means there’s no time to think about the fact you’re in a metal tube hurtling through the sky. But, every now and then, I’m reminded that I’m a nervous flyer at heart.

She's still smiling - phew!!

She’s still smiling – phew!!

Specifically, when there’s turbulence.

On our flight to Hong Kong recently (which DH was co-piloting), we started bumping around about half-way through. To me, it was as though things had gotten really choppy up there – and I started feeling anxious.

My champagne was sloshing around. The seat-belt sign pinged on, and stayed on. I was sure I could see the wing bouncing up and down in the dark. I scanned the flight attendants’ faces to make sure they didn’t look worried. My heart rate quickened, my palms became sweaty.

Should I write a note to DH saying ‘I love you’ and wave it in front of the on-board camera, I wondered? No, that would be silly – if there was a problem, he’d be very busy (how my DH laughed later).

And, in my mind – even though I kind of knew the turbulence wasn’t that bad – I could imagine the Air Crash Investigation commentary: “Among the 530 passengers on the ill-fated flight was the first officer’s wife” – the camera panning to a blonde, skinnier version of me sipping wine upstairs, followed by a wedding photo. “Just before the aircraft went into a nosedive, she penned the last words she would ever write.”

I’ve really got to stop watching documentaries about air disasters, haven’t I? Reacting like this to a few air pockets isn’t normal, is it?

Silent Sunday: Hello Asia!

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It’s not often that the stars align to allow DH and I to go on a trip sans kiddos, but this weekend they did, and we found ourselves in Hong Kong for 48 blissful, and did I say child-free, hours! (technically, I was tagging along, joy-riding on DH’s flight, while he worked his socks off flying there and back, but a girl has to grab some quality time with her man and the street markets when she can).

I’d honestly never seen such an incredible variety of goods for sale – you can literally revamp your wardrobe, buy a pet goldfish and entertain a child one street at a time

I’ve also never seen so many gaz-illions of people – 63,000 per square kilometre apparently. I must have bumped into at least a thousand of them whilst weaving through the crowds

And ALL connected and tapping away on electronic devices, on the go (even while walking)

With such a dense population it’s not surprising that the spread of infection is a concern, and I saw plenty of people wearing masks (along with signs on the metro saying anti-bacterial coating had been applied to the handrails, in addition to frequent disinfecting)

I loved the teeming metropolis though – from the lights to the shopping to the fusion of Chinese and Western influences, Hong Kong totally rocks

Flying with kids: Risky business

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A highly coveted perk among airline families – the holy grail for many I know – is being able to travel in business class with small children. Yes, your whole tribe, seated at the front of the aircraft, or up top in the case of the superjumbo – with acres of leg-room, fine dining and the chance for some mummy respite in the A380’s on-board bar.

This story was told to me by a fellow pilot’s wife and I’m repeating it here because the incident not only makes me hoot with laughter, but (and I know she won’t mind me telling you this) it was probably THE most embarrassing mummy moment of her entire nine years of motherhood. I think we can all relate, wherever we sit on the aircraft…

And then the day was finally upon us, and we could book seats for both myself and my small children in the business class cabin of the airplane taking us home.

Now THIS is the way to travel

Business class travel is indeed very special. The cabin itself seems to sparkle and twinkle with just enough ‘specialness’ to make anyone smile. But it’s the space that’s the real bonus. Not just the extra-large seats, or the super-big TV screens, there just seems to be enough space around you and your family to be able to settle in comfortably.

And settle in we did; the pillows a little softer, the blankets a little fluffier. I soon had both of my children cocooned into balls of happiness; DS happy to explore the myriad of games and cartoons on offer, DD’s little hands searching out all the extra buttons and switches not previously discovered on any seat before.

‘What’s this Mummy?’ she asked as she picked up the console that tucks neatly into a pocket on the arm of her seat.

‘Well, you can call the attendant by pushing a button here,’ I explain, ‘But wait, if you press here your seat will give you a massage.’ Peels of delight ensue from DD, already a disciple of the body rub, as she tries out all the different ways she could make her seat tickle and shudder. Was this not heaven? If I have a predictable difficult period with my daughter on flights it’s right at the beginning, getting her to settle down. But, thanks to the wonders of the juddering seat, we’re looking like the perfect family unit and I’m sipping champagne …

During our summer stay, the kids were quick to tell everyone about their trip in business class. ‘Oh!….how lovely’ was the response as most pictured these tiny dots sipping wine and eating caviar – and I would watch as their eyebrows disappeared up into their hair lines.

The cheese platter – and the kids won’t send it flying

‘And what was the thing you liked best about travelling in business class?’ they’d ask.

‘The computer games,’ was DS’s stalwart response. The games are the same, incidentally, wherever you sit on the aircraft.

‘The massage button!’ squealed DD, ‘I had a massage all the way from Dubai to England!’ Now, this was altogether more like the example of over-indulgence that many were on the lookout for. So on several occasions during our stay, DD was encouraged to repeat the story of the seat that gave her a massage and how she was going to have one all the way back to Dubai too.

On our trip home, as we board through doors at the very front of the aircraft, I immediately see that we are travelling in an older plane than the one in which we arrived. Characteristically stoic, DS flops down in to his ample seating, grabs the control and settles down for the long flight. Not so DD.

‘Oh no, Mummy. This is not right!’ She picks at the cover placed over the arm of her seat until it comes away in her hand only to reveal the arm of the chair.

‘But where is the thing? Where is the massage button? I can’t see it!’ Her lip beginning to tremble just as the gangways either side of us fill up with slow moving – hmm, yes, now stationary – economy passengers queuing quietly to get to their seats. I sense the impending storm …

‘Why don’t we see what film we can find for you to watch, or maybe a game to play….?’ My powers of deflection moving up into overdrive instantaneously. ‘Hey, do you want to look at my magazine…..? Have that chocolate bar I bought in the coffee shop just now….. how about my entire handbag? Here, take it. Take a good look……!’ But it was all in vain…

‘But I want a massage!’ DD cries, literally cries. Huge tears rolling down her cheeks as her whole body begins to heave. All eyes are on us. ‘It’s alright darling,’ I croon, pulling her tiny frame on to my lap, ‘It’s not the end of the world. There really are worse things that can happen.’

‘But it is!” she cries, ‘It is the end of the world! I don’t want to be on this plane. I want to get off this plane right now and get on one where I sit in a seat that GIVES ME A MASSAGE!’

Powerless to stop her, I resorted to putting my hand over her mouth in an attempt to muffle what she was actually saying.

Thank heavens for the crew member (who has probably seen it all). ‘Champagne madam?’ she smiles, ‘Or is that a very large white wine?’

Silent Sunday: Picture-perfect England

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Would you believe me if I told you that this is my brother’s office? “It’s very nice,” my mum mentioned, as we crawled along the motorway on a very hot English summer’s day. But, I have to say, I was quite taken aback with just how picture perfect the premises and 180-hectare nature reserve are (he works for the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds at their headquarters in Bedfordshire).

I got slightly carried away imagining the staff having business picnics complete with home-made lemonade, colourful dragonflies darting around their clipboards and woodland birds pecking on trees. With less than a week to go before we’re back in the desert, I think I’ve got my rose-tinted specs on already.